


You Better Cry, Man, It Only Means You Care

by XioNin



Series: Moments (Skam France) [3]
Category: SKAM (France)
Genre: Angst, Canon-ish, Depression, F/M, M/M, Post ep 5, Self-Loathing, Speculation, break-up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-23
Updated: 2019-02-23
Packaged: 2019-11-04 09:21:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17895800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/XioNin/pseuds/XioNin
Summary: Like most of the others, Eliott number 452 turns out to be a coward.





	You Better Cry, Man, It Only Means You Care

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading these, and for your lovely comments. The pain, though. Am I right? We'll get through this, mes mecs.
> 
> The title is from a song by Jain, a French artist.

SAMEDI - 10:49

Despite its gentle glide, the hand on Eliott's back burns like a brand. Lucille’s words, whispered softly in his ear, slice through him like shards of glass, though they too are spoken with good intentions.

“Shhhh,” she hushes Eliott when a stuttering sob wriggles from between his clamped lips. “ _Tout ira bien bientôt._ ”

But it won’t. Nothing will ever be okay again, and not because of his usual shit. Not because it's anything beyond Eliott’s control. This time is different. Everything about these last few weeks, finally meeting Lucas – talking with him, listening to him, touching him – it's all different, now. Eliott now knows what he’s been missing all along.

When he’d met Lucille, Eliott had felt seen for the very first time. She’d laughed at his absurd, fantastical tales of what his life would be when he grew up. She’d sat with him when he cried for no reason, and never pressed for explanations. Like she’d known before he did, before his parents had, before anyone, that Eliott was…not like other people.

Being with Lucille has always felt like an end game. Never mind that she's judgmental and moody. That he can’t stand the sound of her voice at times. Or that her kisses taste stale, like day old bread - dry and unappetizing, despite the nourishment they still contained. Being with her now is like dancing with a shadow. An echo. A ghost of the girl she was, and yet a projection of the woman she would become – someone resigned to watch over him, maternal in her devotion and righteous in her martyrdom.

And it had been enough for Eliott until he saw _him._

Not the first day, the first day Eliott had just been struck by his beauty and the sense that Lucas was like him, somehow. A part of something and yet apart from it. Eliott’s entire world had shifted into another spectrum and he hadn’t even known it at the time.

Eliott would catch little fleeting glimpses of Lucas in the halls. That shock of hair that he now knew was softer than anything he’d ever touched. Flashes of blue eyes that always seemed to be shuttered, and rosy lips that stretched into uneasy smiles.

He’s kissed those lips but, God, he never will again.

Lucas has so much pain in his life already, Eliott can't burden him with his fucked-up self. But how will he ever be able to handle walking those halls again, knowing he could turn any corner and...?

Another full-body shudder. This time, Eliott can’t stifle it.

“Oh, babe…” Lucille presses closer. “Maybe I should call your-?“

“No,” Eliott punches the word from his chest. He sits up abruptly, nearly toppling Lucille off the edge of the bed, but she follows. Always watching.

She’s in a lacy bra and panties, gorgeous with her hair mussed. He’d tried to find her again by running his fingers through it the way she likes. His Luce.

Eliott had kissed and caressed her, had searched for the connection they’d once had. He needs her to ground him, but the anchor remains elusive. She isn’t the one his soul cries out for. Wrong port. Wrong fucking sea.

He can’t have Lucas. He doesn’t want Lucille, not like this. It isn’t fair to drag this out any longer.

Eliott raises his head to meet her eyes and her expression is full of worry. She’s wary, maybe not so certain she’s been here before. God, she is going to hate him. 

Lucille smooths a hand over Eliott’s crown and rests it at his nape, bringing their foreheads together. When she speaks, her voice is brittle like fall leaves crunching under his feet.

“Let me,” she says as she wraps him in her arms and pulls his head into the crook of her neck. She smells of sleep and wisteria.

Eliott feels too clumsy to tread lightly, so he gives in. It’s touch, you see. It’s contact and warmth and everything Eliott so desperately needs. Just not from her.

_If not her, who?_

Fuck. He has to set her free.

But, like most other Eliott Demaurys, number 452 turns out to be a coward.

He lets Lucille pull him down onto the bed. just for a little while, until he can get his strength back. Until he can forget the taste and feel of Lucas, the blue expanse of his adoration, and his utter fearlessness. Until he can stop longing for something he can never have. 

Eliott closes his eyes. Despite his resolve, he tumbles immediately into a dream of warm laughter and cold rain.


End file.
